Before Summer's Over
by The Brat Prince
Summary: James has a reputation, and the truth is, he's not entirely sure how he got it. That doesn't mean he plans on letting it go. He likes being popular and mysterious and flirty. He likes when girls look at him and giggle and blush. So what if he's let this reputation of his perpetuate for so long that even Kendall thinks it's true?


**Before Summer's Over**

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: On the great re-uploading saga...this was originally posted February 7, 2012. My original notes were: Old fic. I fully acknowledge this is a highly unrealistic premise. Although, you never know. Sometimes the players are the ones with the most to prove. Props to **goten0040** for being the best beta a girl could ask for.

* * *

I: _Autumn_

* * *

Kendall walks into gym class with a conspicuous bruise on his neck.

It's not perfectly round, or all one color. In the center it's a deep purple with pinpricks of black. The edges are hazy, borders unclear, the bright crimson red turning into actual skin. It's roughly the size of a girl's mouth.

James knows, because he can't stop staring at it.

Even after class ends, when they're in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by shower steam and naked bodies, guys kicking back or joking about how hard they just pounded the opposing dodge ball team or even just going about the usual routine of returning to a day full of classes and boredom. James can't focus on any of it, because he's got his gaze trained like a sniper rifle on the big red mark that is a brand on Kendall's neck.

He wonders when Kendall started wearing his conquests like a badge.

James's eyes trace down the contours of Kendall's chest to the indents of his hipbones, following a line of sandy hair where it dips beneath his boxers. He feels weirdly uncomfortable, like when he takes a peek at his dad's porn collection. Kendall is bouncing back on his heels, chattering on and on about how much they're going to own at hockey come the season. And James just can't stop staring. He's not sure how to.

He wants to ask Kendall what it was like, the hickey, or maybe the things that came after it. He wants to, but he won't, because it's embarrassing to admit out loud that he doesn't have a lot of…experience. With girls. James has a _reputation_, and the truth is, he's not entirely sure how he got it.

That doesn't mean he plans on letting it go. He likes being popular and mysterious and flirty. He likes when girls look at him and giggle and blush. He likes the way he has all the guys' on the football team's respect.

So what if he's let this reputation of his perpetuate for so long that even Kendall thinks it's true? It makes James feel powerful. Confessing in the middle of the locker room that he doesn't know squat about what another person's mouth feels like on his neck?

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" Kendall knocks a hand against James's head, more a fond pet than a punch. His lips curve, and James is frozen where he stands; Kendall's smile is electric. Whenever he talks to another human being, it's like something switches on behind his irises. The wattage of his happiness turns blinding, and he becomes the boy that he is on skates, confident and charismatic.

The worst part is, Kendall doesn't even know he's doing it. He has no idea that he can turn magnetic in an instant, drawing the eyes of every single person around him.

Including James.

Especially James.

"Sure, yeah. Lunch," James agrees half-heartedly.

It's not even fair. James is way better looking than Kendall. He should have the magnetic personality and the electric eyes. He should be the one that hypnotizes girls, like moths near a flame.

At the very least, he should be the first of them to lose his virginity. If only his stupid mother hadn't instilled all these silly, romantic notions in his head about true love and respect and waiting until he's _ready_.

What does that even mean? If Kendall's ready, James is too.

Isn't he?

He has to be.

"Dude, pizza?" Kendall asks, beaming that brilliant smile at him, and James wonders if Kendall really is ready. Has he already gone through with it? James doesn't know how to ask.

"Pizza," James agrees. He lets Kendall swing an arm up over his shoulders. Kendall smells clean, like soap and shampoo. He's got his jacket dangling over one arm, a backpack on his shoulder, and he looks strong. He looks like the kind of guy girls would fall all over themselves to fuck. James can see the hickey peeking out of Kendall's t-shirt, and it makes him feel small.

Over a pepperoni slice in the middle of the cafeteria, Carlos notices the mark on Kendall's neck. "Woohoo, did you get some last night?"

James stiffens.

"Tactful," Logan comments, not even paying attention. He's got his nose in a book, because he's always got his nose in books. Logan thinks reading is like, the best thing ever.

James privately thinks Logan has been body checked too many times.

"No," Kendall retorts. Then his face splits into a grin, "But. I think I'm going to."

James chokes on his pizza. "What?"

Logan actually lifts his face just enough to give James a weird look. Then he pounds on James's back, hard, until James can breathe again.

Kendall doesn't even notice it.

"I have her exactly where I want her, dude. Last night we got to third base."

Carlos gasps, all awed by the magic idea of a girl's lips on cock. James feels the same way, but also kind of itchy inside, anger heating his skin. He tries not to let it show. According to local legend, he's been to third and beyond.

He aims for an expression that is somewhere between impressed and exasperated, a _finally_ grin that doesn't belie the sudden twitch in his eye. He wants to tell Kendall that going any further is a bad idea, but once the boy gets an idea into his head, there's no stopping him. Even if James- the man, the myth, the clandestine _virgin_- tells him not to rush, it won't matter. Kendall obviously wants it over and done with.

Kendall smirks at James, looking for solidarity. James doesn't have anything like solidarity to give him. "Her parents are going to be out this weekend, and then- I think it's happening, dude."

Carlos is all excited, like a small child. Even Logan looks up from his textbook long enough to give Kendall a fist bump. But James doesn't have anything to say. He only has one thought in his head:

Kendall's ready.

James thinks about that once he's home, fingers twitching over the key pad of his cell phone. If he wants it, all he has to do is pick a girl and call. But. Every time James makes to dial a number, his hands refuse to obey, and okay, Kendall might be ready, but maybe James isn't.

He totally would be…if sex didn't have so many scary consequences. James remembers the last awkward, horrifying lecture his mother delivered about sexually transmitted ick and all the care that goes into raising a baby. He winces.

James doesn't do well with consequences. He knows that there are ways to be safe, but what if he forgets in the heat of the moment? Worse, what if the girl he chooses is more experienced than him and _laughs in his face_?

Usually, in situations like this, James relies on Kendall to act as a buffer. Kendall's always protected him when he's scared. Hell, James's first kiss was a dare at a party in sixth grade. All he remembers about it is the warm-wet of the girl's lips, the way her hair felt tangled in his fingertips, and Kendall's palm resting firm on his lower back, urging James on.

Sex probably won't be the same kind of deal. Kendall can't hold his hand until he gets the first time over with.

Unfortunately.

Maybe sex can be something he builds up to. James is the kind of guy who likes to ease into the pool instead of cannonball on a sunny, clear day. He likes procedure. He mostly blames it on Logan; they've been friends for so long that all his caution has rubbed off. And sex has to happen in steps, right? Steps are good. James is excellent at following directions. He put together some of the Knights' Ikea furniture all on his own and everything.

So maybe he can ease into some kissing here, some touching there, and when the time comes, he really will be ready.

He has to be.

James doesn't want pure or virginal anymore. He wants the man everyone says he is. He wants to be the kind of man that Kendall can't leave behind.

* * *

The day after Kendall officially loses it, James calls Clara. She's a pretty blonde who spends most of her time daydreaming her way through the history class she shares with James. She's ecstatic about their date; James can hear it in her voice.

He first calls her out with the vague idea of making something happen, but it turns out, he doesn't need to do anything at all. They spend Saturday afternoon in an empty matinee showing of some kids' movie, her mouth sucking red into his throat, her hands massaging deftly over the front of James's jeans. James thinks he should touch her back; he can feel the damp heat of her through the knee of his denim, but he doesn't. He holds her close, and kisses her soft until she drops out of his lap and to her knees on the gross, sticky movie theater floor.

James nearly jumps out of his skin when she begins to pull down his zipper.

"You're really tense." She observes, looking up at him from beneath a shock of blonde bangs.

"Uh. Too much caffeine," James explains lamely, sliding his hand over the paper soda cup sitting in the armrest holder, slick with condensation.

"Relax," she purrs, her thumbs tracing circles into the bony part of his knee. She leans forward and kisses the exposed pattern of his boxers, and he can feel the heat of her mouth too close, too amazing. He makes this high, nervous sound, and she pulls back. This weirdly bashful look flits across her face, a beautiful kind of vulnerability. "Um. This is my first time. I might not be very good."

If James was anything like kind, he'd tell her the truth right then and there. But he doesn't, closed mouthed and mostly awed by this thing she's prepared to do. Instead, he cups a hand under her chin, and in the dancing cartoonish light of the one o'clock showing of _Dancing With Unicorns_, he guides her home.

Step by step, giving up.

Step by step, letting go.

* * *

_II. Winter_

* * *

Kendall's making him go to this party. Because of a girl. James is not pleased.

"Why do you even want to go? It's not like you can't bang someone more attractive."

He doesn't sound bitter. Not even a little bit.

"Her face is…okay, it's _unfortunate_," Kendall agrees, smirking, "But she's an animal in bed."

James stares at him.

Kendall doesn't talk about girls like this. He's all gentlemanly and whatever. _James_ is supposed to be the one who's constantly measuring one standard of beauty against another. But ever since Kendall lost it, that night a few months back, he's like a whole new boy, one James can't always wrap his head around.

It's not like Kendall is a slut now. Once he hooks a relationship, he fights to hold onto it like a rabid dog. But over the course of the year, Kendall's been in at least three relationships, and maintained one interim fuck buddy, and James just can't keep up. He tries, of course. He's at the point where he goes out with five different girls a week, but he hasn't lost it to a single one of them. He knows what a hickey is like, now, and a hand down his pants, and a mouth wrapped sweet around his dick, but he hasn't been able to get past that. James just doesn't get into it the way that he's supposed to.

There might actually be something wrong with him.

"Who even are you? I can't believe you just said that. Out loud. Where other people can hear."

Kendall shrugs. "I'm between girlfriends, and we both get something out of it. Where's the harm?"

"I don't want to go," James tells Kendall, adamant.

"Dude. Please?" Kendall taps his fingers against the counter, which is totally cheating. James_ likes_ Kendall's hands. He likes the way they're always moving, drumming against tables or fidgeting with silverware or just wending through the air when he tries to explain some crazy new plan. It's like his fingers articulate a language of their own, callus-roughened and lovely. Sometimes, when they're lying next to each other at sleepovers, James and Kendall will lazily measure the growth of their hands against each other, palm to palm, finger to finger. They will catalogue the differences between them, the scars and the length and the places where soft flesh and bone make unfamiliar shapes. James always observes as long as possible, fascinated by the heat Kendall can generate in that single point of contact, like a whisper of summer over his skin.

He folds like a deck of cards.

At first, the party isn't bad. There's a keg full of icy cold beer and a table for pong and James pretty much knows everyone there. It's a good time for a Friday night, right up until the girl Kendall's after makes her presence known.

She's not even anything special, just a puck fuck with a sweet smile who watches all of their practices. James thinks she compensates for her unfortunate face by treating Kendall like a god that she wants to worship on her knees.

With her mouth, probably.

Kendall is up in her personal space, getting really, really handsy, and James hasn't been this uncomfortable since the last fight between his parents, when his dad repeatedly yelled _blow me, you stupid cunt_ at his mom. When the kissing starts, it's even worse, because James dreams about being kissed like that; tongue and teeth and saliva and naked desire and the absolute certainty that the night is going to end one way.

On a normal day, he likes to watch the way Kendall kisses girls, the way his lips are butterfly gentle, the way he's a fucking artist with his tongue. But today, half-drunk from piss-water beer and his own self-loathing, James is less than interested in being a casual observer. He realizes he has never seen Kendall look so focused, so crazy intense off the ice, and he's not sure what to do with himself, with his eyes, or with his hands. His heart is hammering, spastic in his chest, and his palms are sweaty like he's nervous. The place where Kendall should be is negative space at his side.

James thinks that it probably wouldn't be the same, if he ever did get a kiss like that. For one, Kendall would have to crane his head up instead of down, which would probably mess up everything and- yeah. James frowns at shoes. It probably wouldn't be any good at all.

Which is totally fine. James doesn't want to be kissed by Kendall. That would be stupid, because Kendall's got a dick, and James isn't into that.

Probably.

No, definitely.

The girl breaks the kiss and trails her fingers along Kendall's arm. James wants to hurt her.

Kendall pants, "What's wrong?" and nudges his nose along the line of her throat.

"This is a party." She shrugs. "We should enjoy it."

Kendall palms over her butt, murmurs, "I am enjoying it," just loud enough that James can hear.

"Right, but, before we have a _private _party, you need to do something for me." The girl grins, and James doesn't like that look at all. He takes a sip of his beer, feels it burn in his stomach, coughs. He wants to go home.

"Name it." Kendall licks the girl's earlobe. "Anything. I'll do anything."

"Great. I want to see you do body shots. Off of him." She points at James, giggling, impressed by her own brilliance.

James nearly spits out his drink. "_Excuse me_?"

"Okay." Kendall shrugs, like it's no big deal. He smirks at James, pretty and insolent, and honestly, James thinks he's kidding.

James keeps on thinking he's kidding until he's sprawled across the kitchen counter, his shirt rucked up beneath his armpits, and Kendall's mouth is closing over his navel. There's a wet suck, and all the girls are cheering. James thinks that's going to be the end of it, because he can tell that Kendall is wincing from the burn of tequila in his throat, but then his tongue darts out, dipping into James's belly button and licking up whatever droplets remain.

James can't even help the sudden fatness to his dick. And Kendall is suddenly so, so close, his mouth latching onto the wedge of lime sticking from James's lips. Their mouths are nearly touching, and then they _are_ touching, a light brush as Kendall gets hold of the lime. It is an electric thrill that James can feel in his bones.

When Kendall pulls back, he grins at James, like this whole thing is _funny_.

It's _not_ funny. It's not funny that James is half hard because of his best friend's stupid fucking mouth, and it's not funny that Kendall turns away to pull that bitchy girl into a kiss, like she's his prize for turning James on. It just makes James mad, from the press of their lips to the way Kendall palms her ass, his fingers bunching in her skirt and then deftly slipping beneath it.

"Kendall," James says sharply, because it's not _fair_.

He is a child having a fit, and he doesn't care. Why should he be forced to put up with something when he doesn't want to? Because it's the nice thing to do? It's James's life.

Kendall pulls back, his lips red. He blinks and asks, "Why are you being so squeamish? It's not like you're exactly a vestigial virgin, dude."

James flushes, this horrible, icky, itchy blush that glows beneath his skin like a bad sunburn.

Kendall's mouth drops open, and for this long moment James thinks he's going to ask what's wrong, but then the girl is burying her face into Kendall's collarbone, her arms like octopus tentacles around his middle, drawing him against her, drawing him away.

It's like James isn't even there.

* * *

Faith is this preppy cheerleader that James meets at the party. She's halfway to wasted and more than a little friendly, and even though James knows it's wrong, he takes advantage of it. Kendall is upstairs, pounding his fuck buddy into a mattress, and James is lonely and plastered and he wants the heat of Kendall's mouth back on his skin. He hooks up with Faith on this grotesque looking paisley print couch in the basement of the house they're in, rubbing their bodies together until this ridiculous friction and dry heat builds between their hips.

James comes embarrassingly quickly in his jeans, sticky-wet against his boxers and shame burning across his cheeks and his collarbone, Faith panting his name over and over again.

He never ends up talking to her after that, at school or any subsequent parties, too humiliated by his own inexperience to find the right words.

Later on, James acknowledges it's a pretty dickish thing to do, but at least he's catching up to Kendall.

James feels like that's really important.

* * *

_III. Spring_

* * *

Kendall is an absolute beast on the ice. Which is probably why he has groupies, girls who mill around the side of the rink and giggle whenever he skates near.

James has them too, because he's no rookie at the game. He has twice as many girls begging for his attention, even. It helps that he's good looking, helps that everyone calls him a sex god, helps that he barely acknowledges any of the girls outside of a smile and a wink.

They always want what they can't have.

James has been dating more frequently now, mostly girls from other schools who don't start rumors when James refuses to sleep with them. He's still not quite ready to give anything up, but he's logged more experience than say, Logan or Carlos, and he counts that as a win.

Kind of.

It's hard to be super confident about his skillset in the bedroom when he watches Kendall charm the girls who flock to see him. The team is on a timeout, coach yelling at some poor kid who keeps on missing passes, and Kendall is definitely taking the opportunity to flirt, albeit a little awkwardly. Just because he's all charming with the girls he's used to doesn't mean girls as a species don't still fluster the fuck out of him. It's a small comfort.

James stands next to Logan during the break, listening to him prattle on about honors calculus like it's another language, not really hearing anything. Across the ice, this one chick reaches out and touches Kendall's face, and James can't help stating abruptly, "Kendall's pretty good looking, isn't he?"

"You've never thought so before," Logan says, sounding a bit weirded out.

It's understandable. James isn't big with complimenting other people.

"Yeah, but. He's-" James bites his lips and thinks about the way Kendall's cheeks dimple. "You know."

Logan actually looks a lot like he doesn't know. He tilts his head to the side, studying James like he's a lab experiment, and replies, "They say that when you love someone, it makes them more beautiful. To you."

"That's dumb," James answers automatically. He can feel this heat creeping up his skin, tingeing his ears, and he's never been so thankful for his hair-ruining helmet before.

"You're dumb," Logan says fondly. He punches James in the arm with all the force of a baby wallaby. "C'mon, coach is just about running out of steam."

Practice isn't bad, nor is the one the day after, or the day after that. The real problem arises at their game on Saturday afternoon, when Kendall spends more time showboating for the cluster of girls in the front row of bleachers than actually, like, _playing_.

James can handle jealousy. He can handle being dragged to parties so that Kendall can get his dick wet, and he can even sort of handle playing second fiddle to every girl whose legs Kendall has spread.

What James absolutely cannot handle is Kendall giving anything less than his full attention to _hockey_, his first love since they were toddlers.

He maybe overreacts. Aiming the puck right at one of the pretty blondes Kendall keeps winking at is a bit drastic, even with all that shatter-proof glass standing between her and any real danger.

Carlos thinks it's an accident. Logan gives James this look somewhere between pity and amusement. And Kendall?

The second the game ends Kendall drags him by the collar of his shirt into the locker room, glaring all the while. The rest of their team stays out on the ice, crowing and whooping, victorious champions, but Kendall is asking harshly, "What is your problem?"

James scowls. "I don't have a problem."

"You have a lot of problems. Not all of which we can address right now." Kendall makes this goofy, exasperated face that James is pretty sure he practices in the mirror. "Why are you being such a dick?"

"Why did you invite ever girl you've ever fucked to the game?" James doesn't exactly mean to let the question slip out, but now that it's in the world, he refuses to take it back. He crosses his arms, letting his anger take over, because it's way more eloquent that he could ever be.

Kendall's mouth gapes open. "I haven't-" he stops, considering. "Not all of them."

"Three quarters?" James suggests in a sweet voice, the words are anything but.

"Half," Kendall replies viciously, twisting his hand harder into James's collar, "What's it to you?"

"They're distracting."

"You bring girls to our games all the time." True. Not on purpose, but James can't help it that he's a stud, even if it's only in theory. Kendall demands, "How is that any different?"

He's pissed off. James wants to touch him, wants to feel the heat of his fury and the curve of his lips. And it just riles him up more, until he's yelling, "I haven't fucked them!"

It bursts from James's mouth before he can even try to stop it. Maybe being exposed to Kendall's brutal honesty for his entire life is rubbing off.

God, he hopes not.

"Since when?" Kendall's eyes are narrow, disbelief completely apparent. James frowns. He doesn't want to answer, but Kendall is looking at him all fierce and angry and intense and prompting, "_James_?"

Kendall steps closer into James's space, and he swallows and tries not to look nervous. Kendall's eyes are blazing, and they're nose to nose, and okay, maybe James wouldn't mind if Kendall kissed him.

Just once.

Just to try it.

James rears back, like a skittish horse.

"Are you-" Kendall frowns. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

"Of course not," James snaps, because okay, maybe he is scared of…well, a lot of things right now, but he's been competing against Kendall forever a day. He's not going to admit that he's frightened about something so silly as…

As wanting to kiss his best friend.

As admitting he still has his V-Card.

As wishing Kendall would _do something_ about it.

That last thought burns through his mind like a falling star, sucking most of James's breath away. He's dizzy with the idea of it, close to passing out with how hot Kendall's naked body pressed up against his would be and-

James inhales, shaky, guilt coloring his cheeks. He submits to the least humiliating of his fears. "I haven't fucked anyone."

Kendall laughs.

And laughs.

And _laughs_.

"It's not funny!"

Kendall clutches his stomach, deep laughter shaking through his entire body. "Yes it is; that's the greatest joke I've ever heard."

James pouts, his insides a knot of dread and loathing and complete mortification. "I'm serious."

"Right." Kendall snorts. The fluorescent lights flicker, turning his hair from gold to yellow-white and back. Outside, James can hear the thud of approaching skates, the rest of their team finally done celebrating.

James kind of wishes the ground would swallow him whole. "Kendall, I'm serious. I've never had sex with anyone."

Deadpan, Kendall responds, "Sure."

"Kendall. _Really_."

Kendall laughs again, but the noise tapers off when he sees that James still isn't joining in. There's a hand at the door, a creak of it opening, and in a hush, Kendall whispers, "You- _you're_ a virgin?"

James nods, indignity burning high on his cheekbones. Kendall has the nerve to look very distressed about the whole thing. "I thought…no. how is that even possible?"

James wants to tell him a lot of things, about missed opportunities and waiting for the right person, half-lies and half-truths that will make it seem less pathetic. But in the end, Kendall is staring at him across a lake of their teammates- back slapping and hollering and congratulating each other on being kings of the rink- and James doesn't get the chance to tell him anything at all.

* * *

Alexandra is a leggy singer/song writer that James meets through drama club. They've gone on a couple of dates, and when James asks her out after the disastrous secret-sharing incident, she accepts without hesitation.

Okay, maybe James's confession wasn't a complete catastrophe, but he feels like it was. Every time Kendall looks at him now, there's something different in his eyes. James feels it like a punch to his kidneys, _every time_.

He doesn't want pity.

On this particular date, Alexandra takes James back to her house. Things get hotter and heavier than they ever have before, and the next thing James knows, they're both naked. He holds his body over her, hovering in the air, uncertain. She wraps her hands around the back of his neck, cups one over his cheek and draws him down, kisses him soft and sweet and too chaste for the amount of clothes they're not wearing.

"It's okay," she tells him, kissing him again, sighing a little when he drops some of his weight down so that his skin is pressed to hers. "I promise it's okay."

James kisses her a little rougher, the softness of her making him feel unhinged, a little wild, a little untamed. He slides against her, wet heat like nothing he's ever felt. She moans and pulls him closer, kisses his throat until he feels like he's going to die if he doesn't thrust forward into that warmth.

So he does, a little bit, the tip of him sliding inside of her without any resistance.

James isn't known for willpower, and he never quite figures out how he's able to stop, later. It might have something to do with his mom, with all her stories about true love and waiting, or it might have something to do with the flash of Kendall he sees behind his eyes, golden and furious and leaving a deep, hollow ache in James's chest.

All he knows is that he rolls of Alexandra with more regret than he's ever felt in his life, more self-hatred and loathing than James Diamond has ever been able to fathom. She doesn't understand why he's stopped, and she doesn't understand when he leaves.

Alexandra becomes one more girl that James leaves behind, hearts like corpses in his wake.

At this rate, he is never going to get laid.

* * *

_IV: Summer_

* * *

When Kendall asks James to spend the night, he doesn't think anything of it.

Not during their horror movie marathon, when Kendall slips an arm completely over James's shoulders, his fingertips dangling against James's chest, for the briefest of moments brushing against his nipple.

Not during their snack break, when Kendall asks, "Want some?" and offers up a bag of candy, fingers toying a lemon shaped gummy bear over his lips.

Not even when James's breath catches, and he watches, fascinated, wanting to put his fingers and tongue every place the gummy bear touches, and Kendall smiles, like maybe he _knows_.

It's only when two superhot girls show up at Kendall's door asking if maybe they can have some help _studying_ that James actually gets suspicious.

No one asks Kendall Knight or James Diamond for _study help_.

Not ever.

Kendall, of course, welcomes them in, charming and sexy to the point of irritating. He makes introductions, and James vaguely recognizes both of the girls. His own date is a pretty brunette with eyes like the Minnesota sky, and Kendall's date is the girl he's been on and off with for close to a month now. She's watching Kendall like she might unhinge her jaw and swallow him down whole, and James's heart stutters in his chest.

"What are you doing?" James demands in the quiet of Kendall's kitchen, pissed as hell. They haven't talked about the virgin thing, not even once since James brought it up back in March, and despite the constant hint of disappointment in Kendall's eyes, James had hoped that Kendall had just forgotten.

Obviously not.

"Helping you out."

"I don't need a pity fuck, you _asshole_," James hisses back. He upset that Kendall thinks so little of him. His eyes sting with it.

Kendall shrugs, like he hasn't done anything wrong. "Who says you have to bang her? I mean, she's willing, but…"

He doesn't push, or prod, or force James into anything. He just leaves the statement hanging there, with all its implications.

Like James needs his help.

James thinks it bothers him so much because he feels like he _does_ need help, or something. After all the dates he's been on, and after all the girls that have tried, so desperately, to get into his pants; the chess club geeks are actually less prudish about girls than James is in the privacy of his own bedroom.

How did that even happen?

He's mad, humiliated, and Kendall is an easy target. "When did you turn into such a jackass? Seriously. Tell me. You used to be nice, dude. Now the only thing you think about is _sex_."

For once in his life, Kendall doesn't rise to the bait. He meets James's gaze, all earnest, and says, "Because sex is awesome."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" James retorts.

"That's why I'm trying to help you out!"

James can tell that he means it. Kendall honestly, genuinely is doing this out of friendship.

He just doesn't get it.

"And I'm trying to tell you I don't want your help! Maybe I'd like it to, I don't know, _mean_ something?" James bites out before he realizes how ludicrous it sounds out loud.

He waits for Kendall to make fun of him, but instead, Kendall's mouth snaps closed, and he almost looks…_ashamed_. James is too embarrassed to process it, too put out by the idea of his charity date to give Kendall the time of day. He stomps back into the living room, where the girls have been sitting, and sends the pretty girl with her Minnesota sky eyes and her mascara soaked eyelashes away. He leaves Kendall alone with his girl, to do whatever with.

James doesn't care. He refuses to, adamantly, even while he's slipping into his pajamas and climbing into Kendall's bed, curling beneath the covers the same way he has since before he can remember.

Except the thing is, James does care, and he can't stand the idea that Kendall's actually going to have sex with someone while James is wrapped in his scent, in his sheets, like a jilted wife. Somehow, despite all the ways Kendall has changed since high school, James still expects more from him. He keeps hoping that this whole manwhore thing is just a phase, and that Kendall will go back to being a brave, chivalrous knight of a boy one hundred percent of the time.

It's not exactly a rational expectation. Kendall is still every bit the loyal, honorable best friend he's been forever and a day, but now he has one more talent under his belt that James is desperately jealous of. It is coloring every crevice of his mind, green like envy. And James isn't sure any more if he's annoyed that Kendall pioneered this territory first, or if it's something else, something more; something about the way that Kendall looks at James sometimes and James always looks back.

He manages to restrain himself for nearly half an hour before he creeps down the dark stairs, one creaky step at a time. The TV is still on, flashing pictures one after another, but Kendall and his date aren't paying much attention at all.

James should turn around, head right back up to Kendall's bedroom and bury his head beneath the covers. He knows that. He does. But he can't.

He's never seen another guy naked before, outside of movies or the locker room, and this is so dissimilar from anything he's ever experienced that James is stunned, paralyzed by the wrong_rightness_ of it. Kendall has his date strategically arranged on the sofa while he fucks into her, slow pumps of his hips that make James's mouth go dry. The girl is squirming, moaning, making a lot of noise considering that Kendall's mom and Katie are right upstairs, but Kendall seems to like it, seems to appreciate the danger. He rides her harder, fucks into her like he wants her to be louder.

Like he wants someone to hear.

And of course James does, James is listening because he can't do anything else, Kendall's harsh grunts and the girl's moans permeating his eardrums. His world shrinks down to Kendall, whose skin is golden, hazy and soft in the dim lamplight of the room. He looks like every wet dream James has ever had, and it makes James feel guilty, but also curious. James can't stop watching as Kendall scrapes his teeth over the girl's lower lip, nips at her skin, punctuating both with a gasp. He is caught by Kendall's biceps, still scrawny, but beefing up every day, and the way his muscle bulges out as he holds on tight to the girl's thighs, like maybe if he let go he'd fly up into the atmosphere. James can't process this, not the muscles working in Kendall's ass or the shine of his golden hair or the line of his back, and he's getting hard. He can't stop it.

Thank fuck Kendall and his date are so into each other, thank fuck they haven't seen him. That's what James should be thinking.

Instead he watches the shadows play across Kendall's face like licks of flame and he yearns to see his eyes. James imagines all the times he's seen Kendall hook up with a girl, the straightforward intensity and single-minded focus, and he imagines it's turned up right now, amped a billion times, and he wants to, has to _see_. James creeps around the curve of the wall, clutching onto it for support, the weight of his own dick making him feel awkward but daring, reckless in ways he wouldn't normally be able to tolerate.

Lust always has that effect on James, turning his thoughts blurry until he's lost in it, and with girls he only remembers to put on the brakes at the last possible second. With Kendall, James feels like his brake lines are cut.

There is no stopping it, no way to skid to a halt, because his foot has hit a floorboard wrong, and it cracks through the night like a whip. The girl that Kendall's nailing into the sofa cushions doesn't even notice, lost in what looks like some kind of religious experience, ecclesiastic bliss, and no way can Kendall actually be that good.

Or maybe he can, because Kendall isn't even looking at his date anymore; he's watching James, staring outright with freakily luminescent eyes, like a deer on the side of the road. James stands stock still, caught in the act, guilt and shame paralyzing his muscles, but it's like something inside of Kendall blazes, and he rides it out, keeps thrusting through it until everyone in the room tips over the edge.

When it's over, quicker than James expected, he looks woefully at the damp bleeding over the front of his pajama pants and thinks that there's definitely something wrong with him.

Only, Kendall doesn't seem to think so. He's staring at the wet stain blossoming across the penguin design and licking his lips in a way that looks less disgusted and more fascinated. _Hungry_. He rolls off his date, hopping to his feet and taking a step towards James before he even seems to realize that he has company.

Breathless and a little bit oblivious to what just happened in the aftermath of her own orgasm, the girl lolls her head back on the couch and says, "What the hell? Were you watching? You _freak_."

James recoils. His back and shoulders hit the wall by the staircase, and he wants to run, wants to apologize, wants to sink into the earth and never shoot up again.

James doesn't do any of that. Kendall, so used to playing the white knight on his friends' behalf, turns on the girl in seconds, titanium in his gaze. "Don't talk to him like that."

"Excuse me?" The girl's eyes get comically wide, big as a cartoon character's. Her tone grows nasty. "You jackass, I'll talk to your pervy little friend however I want."

"He's not pervy." Kendall's voice is steel, and James hasn't actually ever seen him yell at a girl before unless it's Katie, and even then, not like this.

"Oh, _fuck you_. I'm not putting up with this. Get out."

Kendall's mouth gapes open. "It's my living room."

"And I need to get dressed; I'm not putting on a show for you douchebags. Get. Out." the girl spits, and then she chucks the remote control for the TV at Kendall's head, which he mostly deserves. Kendall ducks before it hits the wall, shattering plastic and batteries thudding to the floor. He hastily grabs his shit, tugging on his boxers and jeans as they retreat to the stairwell, doing this little dance to get everything into place. He doesn't buckle his belt, or even bother doing up the zipper, but at least he has the decency to tuck himself back into his boxers before he settles on the step next to James, their knees just barely touching.

Not that it makes a difference. James has already seen too much to forget what Kendall looks like, cum-soaked, still half-hard and red. James feels nauseous with it, with how much he _wants_. It is a chasm, an ache in his chest.

At least now he knows, for sure.

Kendall's date gathers up her clothes and dresses more quickly than James thought was possible. She stomps by and mutters something rude, and Kendall's intensely mature response is to yell, "Fine, leave."

The door slams. She's gone. Probably to key Mrs. Knight's car.

It's a small miracle that Mrs. Knight hasn't woken up yet, but the woman can sleep through a tornado if she so chooses. Katie not so much; James keeps checking the dark silhouette of the upstairs hallway for her tiny form.

Kendall isn't even bothering to look. He turns to James, guilt tripping over his features. "I probably could have handled that better. I was a little cruel."

"Probably." James replies, pitiless. Kendall can sort out the way that situation just crashlanded on his own. James has got his own shit to figure out. He slumps against the wall and mutters, "I didn't mean to- um. Sorry."

"Why?" Kendall actually looks genuinely bewildered.

"Because she's right? I'm a pervert." James groans, already thinking of how his womanizing reputation will spiral right down the drain if this gets around school.

It probably shouldn't be his priority, but James likes being popular and idolized. Voyeurism isn't going to look super great on his social resume.

"You're a teenage boy. We're all like that." Kendall jokes, but it falls flat. He's obviously not feeling amazing about being a dick to that girl. It's apparent into the set of his shoulders, and in the less-than-proud tilt of his chin, but it's not like his regret makes a whit of difference now. He sighs. "She probably doesn't want to go to prom anymore."

James gives him this look, like, _seriously_? He won't even dignify that one with an answer.

Kendall grins a bit ruefully and tries, "Hey, listen, don't worry about it. You're not a pervert."

"I mean. I kind of am. I just-" James bites off what he's going to say, because the dark stain on his pajama pants says it all.

There's this moment of silence where he watches Kendall brush all of that remorse aside, and then Kendall takes a shaky breath and says, "I'm probably one too."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted you to see. Or hear. Or something. I wanted…sex is really great, and I thought maybe if you saw it in real life, you'd want it more."

"Why does it matter so much to you?"

"I don't know." Kendall kneads his fingers against his eyes, rakes a hand through his hair, nervous energy thrumming through his body. "It just does."

"But it shouldn't."

"But it does," Kendall insists. "We've been doing everything together since kindergarten. You joined hockey for me. I joined the drama club so you wouldn't be in it alone. Our dads checked out at practically the same time…" Kendall slides his hand up the back of James's pajama clad thigh, a warm heat pressed into his skin through thin fabric. "And you were right, by the way."

"I was?" James blinks. "About what?"

"I would have waited. To…you know. Back in the fall." Kendall leans his head against James's shoulder. He smells like sex and sweat. "I thought…I kept seeing you with all these girls, and everyone said you were like, the grandmaster of fucking, and you know I hate to lose, and…Just, if I'd known, I probably would have waited. It's one thing to try to beat you at a game. It's another to be the only one playing."

"Kendall-"

"I don't regret it or anything," Kendall hurries to say. "But I'm not good at this whole casual thing. Obviously." He looks at the door, ruefully. "I like relationships. I like, I don't know, cuddling."

James cocks an eyebrow. "Did she just cut off your balls, or…?"

"Shut up!" Kendall swats at him. "If you tell anyone this later, I will so deny it."

"That's probably a good plan." James snorts.

"She's never going to forgive me for that, is she?" Kendall juts his chin towards the door.

"Do you really think you deserve to be forgiven for that?" James ask, because he's been guilty of shutting down quite a few girls in his day, of treating them more like property than people during the course of dates or competitions with the guys, but he knows that what just went down is wrong. Even if Kendall was protecting him.

"No." Kendall groans. "Never tell my mom. She'll beat me."

He probably deserves it, but James isn't that much of a jerk. "Luckily, your mom and I don't talk about your sex life."

"Small favors." Kendall laughs, but it is an uncomfortable sound, like he's not really sure why he's laughing.

"Don't be weird." James says, pleads, because he's scared that what he's done is so big that Kendall might slip away from him for real now.

Kendall's eyelids flicker shut. "I'm not."

"You are." James is insistent, fingers to Kendall's pulse point, trying to recapture his attention.

"I don't mean to be." Kendall's eyes snap open, and this close they are a startlingly clear green. "James, I don't want you to hate me."

"Like that could even happen."

"It could."

"Could not," James insists.

Kendall has his hockey captain look on, the blazing focus he wore minutes before when he was buried inside of that girl. It's his decision making face, and James only has an instant to figure that out before the decision, whatever it is, is made.

Kendall kisses him, slow and soft.

James's mind goes completely blank. He cannot react; he sits there, still as a mannequin, and lets Kendall's mouth work over his until his lips have been prized open and he can feel the soft pressure of Kendall's tongue. The wet slide of it prompts James back into reality, and he can feel Kendall's hesitance, can muster up enough prescience to recognize Kendall is about to pull away for good. James's hands reach up, cup Kendall's cheekbones, and with a tiny, muffled noise, he becomes an active participant in what's going down. Kendall groans, a little helpless, a little desperate, wrapping a hand around the back of James's neck. He wends a leg over James's lap until he's straddling him, and as he deepens the kiss James feels like he's holding a high voltage current in his hands.

"Wait, _wait_." James pants, because Kendall is hard, the press of his dick nudging up against James's belly through the fabric of his boxers, belt and jeans still undone. "What is this?"

Kendall allows an inch of space between them, and he is glowing with it, pupils blown wide open so that James is drowning in them, his lips spit-slick and red from James, from _kissing James_. The idea takes James's breath away.

Kendall manages to gasp, "Let me make it mean something." He rolls his hips soft against James, his cock thick between them. "P-promise, it will mean everything."

James doesn't know how to interpret that, doesn't know if this is some kind of twisted love confession or if it's some kind of friends help friends pop each other's cherries code, but he doesn't question it, doesn't argue. He wants this. He wants Kendall on top of him, over him, touching him everyfuckingwhere.

It doesn't matter what it means to Kendall, because this feeling, right here, is exactly what James has been waiting for. It is a sweet note in the pit of his stomach, a choked thing in the back of his throat, and a shiver like a live current down his spine.

Kendall leads James to his bedroom, the two of them sneaking their way up the stairs like they're still eight years old, coming off a late night snack raid. But this is nothing like how those trips used to end, because there in the quiet and the still and the darkness of Kendall's sanctuary, Kendall undresses, slow and purposeful, clothes falling to the floor like autumn leaves. James wants to watch the crumpled ball of Kendall's jeans because he is scared to look at Kendall all pale and silvered by moonlight, but Kendall's hands touch his jaw, force him to acknowledge that Kendall is standing there.

Naked.

For _James_.

James has to return the favor, and his hands tremble as he strips off his shirt and shrugs out of his pajama pants with Kendall's hands helping him along.

The thing is, James is scared, and he doesn't want to be. It's Kendall, and the idea of Kendall hurting him on purpose doesn't even compute, like it's not a possibility in the huge wide realm of possibilities. At the same time, it's unnerving letting someone else catalogue his body, all the flaws and imperfections that James doesn't publically advertise. He's built up this image of himself, a statue of a boy that towers as tall as David, but now he's just James, with his scars and his freckles and his boyishness.

"How do we do this?" James asks. It's so strange, admitting that he doesn't know, admitting that he's somehow inadequate in this, to Kendall of all people. But in a way, it also is not strange at all; James trusts Kendall most in the world. Regardless of all the fear that is making James's bones quake, Kendall's presence also makes James feel safe.

"I don't-" Kendall stops, stutters, starts again, his words like an old engine he keeps having to rev. He's flushed with want, flushed with embarrassment, and James does not miss the shake in his voice when he says, "I've got an idea."

He explains the mechanics of gay sex with enough authority that James realizes Kendall has either been doing a lot of google research with plenty of porntastic visual aids or he's already done it once or twice in real life. The idea is a knife of jealousy in his gut, a burn in the back of his lungs, but James doesn't get a chance to ask, doesn't even get to dwell on this new curiosity for more than a few seconds, because then Kendall has pulled a bottle of lube from a drawer in his desk, and he's using it.

On himself.

James watches, his mouth dry as the Sahara as Kendall fingers himself, and he knows with absolute certainty that this will be the fantasy he'll use to bring himself off on every lonely night he ever experiences in the future. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen, Kendall splitting himself apart so that James can…can…what?

He's hit by the idea that Kendall is going to let James fuck him, is going to bend over so that James can push up inside him and _fuck_. James is possibly having a panic attack.

He must look terrified. Kendall's breath catches, and he asks with an edge of alarm, "You want to, right? Please, please, you have to- you want to-"

James crosses the room in two steps, pressing up against Kendall and kissing him hard, the heat of his body unbelievable, Kendall's fingers still moving inside of himself. James helps him with the withdraw, squeezes Kendall's fingers tight before batting them out of the way and laying Kendall against the bed like a princess in a bedtime story. Kendall is watching James like he's all he ever wanted from his life, and James can't deal with everything he feels, his heart too big for his chest, so he goes onto autopilot. He does things he learned from the girls he's tried to date, kisses the head of Kendall's dick and palms over his balls, licks into Kendall's asshole until he is squirming with it. He does not think of the girl Kendall was fucking half an hour before or the way that she still clings to his skin, even though James can taste her in his mouth when he sucks against the shaft of Kendall's cock.

There's no reason to. Right now Kendall exists for James alone.

To make sure of it, James pulls Kendall's comforter over the both of them, and it is like they are both made of night, blurred silhouettes and thundering heartbeats guiding the way.

James situates himself against Kendall without urgency, stroking lube over his own cock while mouthing against Kendall's navel, his thigh, and the soft skin of his knee. Kendall is squirming and gasping and saying James's name in a way that James has never heard before, like maybe _James_ is a word bespoke for Kendall alone. The sound makes James's nerve endings thrill, and he is utterly calm, in a way he never has been with another person pressed up against him.

Maybe that's how he knows it is okay to keep going. When he's ready, he thrusts into Kendall in one clean slide and it doesn't feel anything but right. James doesn't run away, just pushes forward until he can't, until Kendall is wincing with how deep he is, James's face buried into his collarbone. He kisses soft against the protrusion, asking if Kendall is okay, asking if he can move in a voice that sounds more like a desperate sob, like a curse or a prayer.

"It's good," Kendall breathes, chest heaving, sweat shiny on his forehead. He hitches his hips up, meeting James halfway, and at first it is a slow process, because despite Kendall's assurances _good_ is not what he seems to be feeling. It is seconds, minutes, hour later that James angles himself just the right way, nerves frayed, the idea of his own orgasm already glittering at the edges of his vision. Kendall is impossibly tight, squeezing around him in all the right ways, and when James hits whatever the hell he hits inside of him, Kendall keens and claws at his back. James can feel his short nails break skin. He winces, but tries it again, a pump of his hips that makes the bed squeak and Kendall shout, and fuck if his family isn't hearing this.

James has to shove back the comforter, the tent of heat slicking his body with sweat, and his vision has adjusted enough to the dark room that he can make out every emotion that quivers across Kendall's face. He can see how hard Kendall is trying to keep his cool, but how much he is surrendering to the pain and the pleasure of it, mouth gaping open, his dick pulsing between them. James shifts his weight, tries to take on more of Kendall's so that he can reach between them and stroke, a rhythmic pump he uses on himself sometimes in the safety of his own bedroom, and that seems to help. Kendall loosens up, groans a little more wildly, wends his hands through James's hair and whispers filthy things that mostly sound hot to James's ears. He fucks into him harder, aware that he's too close, overheating with it, his balls drawing in tight.

He wants to make Kendall come first, but that's not how it works out, and James collapses on him with a groan, a flood of wet warmth, and his voice, dirty with exertion, gritting out Kendall's name.

James is still riding it out, sated and exhausted when Kendall worms a hand between them. He brings himself off with a few careful strokes, ass squeezing around James's over-sensitized cock and semen spilling sticky and hot between them.

James toes at the comforter until he can kick it up and over their cooling bodies, and they fall asleep like that, stuck to each other with sweat and cum and the uncertain idea that sometime in the future, they're going to have to talk about this.

Although…

He listens to the cheep of cicadas and the way Kendall's breathing deepens and evens out. School has just let out, and they have months of crazy hijinks planned. Pool parties. Campouts. Sleepovers and street hockey tournaments. There will be kayaking and long nights of starry skies and bike races. There will be epic prank wars and hiking trips and endless video game matches. There won't really be a lot of time for things like serious conversations or feelings. James snuggles Kendall closer, wraps his arms around his waist and thinks that yeah, they'll talk about it.

Eventually.

Before summer's over.

* * *

But they never do.


End file.
